Ordinary Superhero

I've collected superhero comics since I was old enough to point a chubby finger at whatever took my fancy. I always have, and I doubt this obsession is going to ebb away any time soon. There is something just so captivating about people who commit their lives to help and save. Perhaps it's because I wish our world was actually crammed with kindness, instead of malice. Perhaps I love them, because I wish these heroes would scoop up our choking planet blanketed in fumes, and cradle and comfort it, and then tenderly place bandages over the scars. Perhaps I love them just to believe that our world can be better than it is and that there are people out there worth being better for.

To this day, my room, which stereotypically it is meant to be filled with Barbies and make-up, is crammed with DC and Marvel comics, action figures and so many posters that you can't see the white washed walls any more. I suppose my parents have always been disappointed that my love of superheroes didn't disappear as time did, that I've never really fitted in with the other girls. Gossip never seemed particularly entertaining, and whereas their only pressing question is whether they look attractive or not, my thoughts have been occupied questioning why there is such a small female superhero presence. Meaning, that up until this day my friends have predominantly been Black Widow and Wonder Woman. Pretty sad, huh?

My new special edition Marvel comic arrived with the post today. For days, I have eagerly been stationed next to the letterbox, as resolute as a guard on watch at a high security prison. I scooped it up before it even had the chance to softly crash to the floor through the letterbox. Without bothering to run back up to my room, I slumped in the corridor and thoroughly pored over the pages. The glossy pages tickled my fingertips, whilst my eyes hungrily devoured every word and picture. When I was finished, I lay there gasping, as if I had just been holding my breath. My thoughts were still wrapped up in a Marvel world, a place that seemed so warm and forgiving, that returning to my hallway was challenging. I allowed myself another few precious minutes detached from reality, so that my eyes didn't register the letter sleeping in a serious, white envelope next to me, with my name printed on it in bold, menacing letters.

I finally took a sweeping glance across at the other letters sprawled across the oak floor. And then I glanced again. I stared the letter with my name addressed on it, and instantly passed it off as a mistake. Gulping, I didn't let myself consider this might be the letter I'd been waiting for. Whatever happened, I would not allow this perfect day to be shattered by a few printed vowels and consonants stringed together.

My day is ruined. No, that barely describes how hollow, how carved out I feel. My day, so fragile and delicate, has been trampled and cracked, leaving irreparable, gaping holes opening to endless, black voids. I have been left in dumb shock, feeling as broken and unfixable as my day. And as broken as my heart, my useless, stupid, hopeless heart. And just by some vowels and consonants stringed together. For the past three hours, I have sat on the hard, polished floors, staring at the joyous wallpaper, letting the patterns swirl around in my head, trying to clear any other thoughts out. Just waiting for something to pick me back up, because I have fallen so far down, climbing back up solo can not even be considered an option.

To say that I'm terrified would be a drastic understatement. My head is pounding trying to keep my expression from crumpling, and my body is quivering with petrified electricity. I feel prime to explode, desperately searching for something to distract me. My mind starts to rattle through all the superheroes I know, momentarily placing a blockade to my river of emotions that is crashing and roaring in my heart. My mind falters on Deadpool. Who is not quite a superhero, but rather someone made to entertain the audience. Modern superheroes are so quickly losing all their virtues, adapting to our fast-pace, lazier style of living. So, isn't it typical that the superhero who I least like, has now the most in common with me.

The looming, grey hospital towers over us, casting a web of misery. My hands turn sweaty in my parents' vice-like grip and my mouth stays dry, even after several futile attempts at stimulating saliva. Almost as if sensing my despair, my heart starts a pounding in my head, as if it knows it is the reason I m so afraid. Afraid that any minute now, it will fail. That it will just give up. Today, I'm going into hospital for a heart transplant, to try and eradicate the cancer that has infested there. That has silently crept around, waiting until it was strong enough to overwhelm. The only thing that was able to ruin my day, and shatter my life into precious shards. But, I once again think of all the superheroes. I think of how they have all overcome challenges in their lives. And perhaps I am just like The Hulk, Superman and Captain America. I've been thinking all my life that superheroes are special because they have power, abilities so unattainable to the ordinary human, that we could only ever dream about them. But, perhaps you don't need superpowers to be a superhero. Perhaps, I am a superhero already. Grasping to this thought that makes me school my expression to neutral, and stabilise my emotions, I smile grimly. Somehow I know that I will walk out of this melancholic hospital, and not look back when I stride away. My life may still be in shards, but all it takes is someone to glue them back together; and all it takes is an ordinary superhero.